All That Love and Tears are for Nothing

That vintage gold ring wasn’t just a symbol of the Wright Clan's Lady of the House. It was our engagement ring.

Milford had given it to me when he proposed—promising me forever. To prove he meant it, he had the word “Lori” engraved into the ring.

But that was all in the past.

My eyes locked on that same ring—and it felt like a knife straight through my heart. The original engraving had been filed away. In its place was a new one: “Lisa.” a short to Malissa.

I swallowed the bitterness burning in my throat. I was just about to speak, to tell the crowd who I really was...

When Milford stepped in front of me. His words cut in coldly, “Lori’s dead. This woman is just some beggar. Anyone who dares slander Lisa again will answer to me.”

I froze. Staring at him in disbelief.

“Milford…” I said, my voice shaking. “Say that again. Say it to my face! Who am I?!”

Milford hesitated for a second. His eyes darted around the crowd before he leaned in, lowering his voice.

“Lori, you heard them. If I admit you’re alive now, Lisa’s reputation will be ruined. My brother entrusted her to me—I can’t let her be humiliated like that. You’ve always been the sensible one… Please. Just endure this. For me. Be good.”

Soon after, he stepped away. He didn’t even look back.

He waved to the butler and ordered him to “take care of me.” Said they’d “let me eat the leftover food” from the banquet—as some kind of charity. Said it would bring his newborn son good fortune.

Far from where I stood, the party picked right back up. Laughter, applause, champagne glasses clinking.

Everyone showered him and Malissa with blessings. Called them a perfect match. Said they were meant to be.

All I felt inside was nothing but cold.

The old butler, who had worked years for the Wright Clan, recognized me instantly. He had someone bring me clean clothes and escorted me to a guest room to take a shower.

I couldn’t help but wonder—why the guest room?

Ignoring his attempts to stop me, I walked straight to the master bedroom door. Without hesitation, I pushed it open.

This had once been our room. Milford’s and mine.

But now, it was unrecognizable. Not a single trace of me was left. Everything had been rearranged to suit Malissa’s tastes. Even our wedding photos had been replaced with pictures of him and her.

The man who once swore he would look at our wedding photo every night before bed and never take it down—even when he turned eighty—had clearly changed.

I stared at the picture of Milford and Malissa, their smiles mocking me from the frame. The tears fell quietly, without sound.

So, this was why he never came to rescue me. Was he afraid I’d get in the way of him and Malissa?

The old butler sighed, clearly wanting to offer some kind of comfort, but in the end, he couldn’t find the right words.

I stood there, numb, my eyes drifting to the baby crib in the corner of the room. I asked, almost in a whisper, “Where’s my daughter? Where is she?”

The old butler hesitated, clearly reluctant to speak. Fortunately, my persistent questions finally wore him down. Thus, the butler told me my daughter was in the shed out back.

That place was cold, damp and filthy. What could my daughter possibly be doing there?

When I found her in that shed, I felt a surge of hot blood rush to my head, followed by a chilling cold that crept up from my feet.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. My five-year-old daughter was tightly clutching my memorial tablet, locked in a massive dog cage with a half-grown wolfdog that towered over her.

Once chubby and healthy, my little girl was now skeletal. Her small body seemed even more fragile than before.

Her clothes were ripped and torn, exposing bruises and wounds on her arms, legs and even her face. Some of the wounds were so deep you could see the bone.

The wolfdog, once a vicious beast, was sleeping soundly beside her, its muzzle caked in blood.

My daughter, who was once terrified of even the smallest pain, didn’t shed a single tear. Instead, she looked at the sleeping dog, fearful but desperate. Slowly, she crawled over to the food bowl and began eating the spoiled scraps in it, gobbling them down with no regard for the filth.

I couldn’t help but think of Malissa, holding her chubby newborn son just moments ago. Hatred surged through my chest.